


Rose of Remembrance

by Pip_n_Flinx



Series: What Lay Behind Us [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dandelion Mention, F/M, Flashbacks, Memories, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22539607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pip_n_Flinx/pseuds/Pip_n_Flinx
Summary: Triss returns home to recover after an entirely too eventful day. Shocked by the return of her past lover, she reminisces over his last gift to her. Struggling to find her emotional balance, Triss sits down to have a good cry before unexpected company arrives...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Triss Merigold
Series: What Lay Behind Us [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621771
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Rose of Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this is a newly edited and revised version of something I posted on tumblr awhile back. Also again, it's shorter than I remembered... I took some time to write some new, Witcher inspired lyrics, and fleshed out a few parts I wasn't yet happy with. I really do intend on writing more about the time in between all the fighting, I hope you enjoy the first real departures from the events of the games.

_“Legend has it they wilt unless nourished with blood, and also if it’s ever sold… But give it to someone you love, and it’ll live forever.”_

  
  


_“This one’s for you Triss. If there’s any truth to the legend it should never wilt, even if you pluck a petal or two.”_

  
  
  


Triss found herself staring at the Rose of Remembrance that Geralt had given her more than six months ago. No one would ever accuse Triss Merigold of having a green thumb, and indeed she had left the growing of herbs to the alchemists her whole life. But it still bloomed, beautiful as the day they had found it growing on the elven statue in the garden.

She’d carried it with her. Sentiment. Just couldn’t bring herself to leave it behind. Smiled every time she looked at it. Pulse elevated. Breathing ragged. And that bath afterwards. She missed him. So much. But he remembered Yen now. Heartbroken, she turned back. Too good to last. She’d known from the start. Even _if_ she was beautiful, Yen was more. Much more. Magic and tradition had seen to that. Bound her crush to her friend. There were other men. Handsome men. Winsome pairings. Other witchers even. It didn’t matter. She looked into those gold eyes and her heart broke. Torn. Then she found him. He’d forgotten. Forgotten Yennefer. Forgotten the Djinn. And her emotions had swept her away. But she’d known, even then. Doomed, this tryst. Doomed from the very start.

Tears slid down her face and quiet sobs racked her chest as she clutched the rose close. It was almost too much to bear, seeing him again. “It’ll be nice?” She asked herself as she sat on the stump that passed for a chair. “It’ll be _nice?!_ What was I _thinking?_ ” More sobs, more tears. Embarrassing, Triss thought. As an advisor to the king, before the coup, before the assassins, before the war, before the witch hunt, before all this, she could have had most any aspiring noble. Most were fine enough, but no. Her heart had seen fit to fall for Geralt. This all would have been so much _easier_ if she had fallen for any other man. Damn, even Emhyr var Emreis was a more likely husband then Geralt, bound as he was by his own wish. Damn him, and damn Yen too. Clenched teeth, silent sobs now. Crying over a rose that would never wilt, never die. A constant reminder both of her lover and her own indiscretion. But she couldn’t just leave it. Not here. Not anywhere. She’d carry around her badge of shame until she died...

They’re writing songs of love, but not for me.

A lucky stars above, but not for me.

With love to lead the way,

I’ve found more clouds of grey

Then any tragic play could guarantee.

I was a fool to fall, and get that way.

Oh woe! Alas! And oh so lack-a-day.

So while I can’t dismiss

The memory of their kiss

I guess they’re not for me.

Dandelion’s song had come back, unbidden. Damn that bard, his songs always hit too close to home. He rarely disguised his subjects, and she feared his brazen approach to storytelling had gotten him locked up again.

The bloom came early, winter’s hold is beat!

A blackbird sings its song, so warm and sweet.

She stole my love away,

Her song of spring so gay,

No one could hear that call and walk away.

No scent as sweet as lilacs, ‘ere in bloom.

Nor sharp as berries picked, ‘fore harvest moon.

A wonderful bouquet,

For any year or day,

Drifting past branch and stream, it holds its sway.

Some say the wolf waits still, on baited breath,

To catch a glimpse o’ wings as black as death.

But birds will fly away,

Again like yesterday!

Why cage a soul so free?

She remembered clearly the day she had heard. About the Djinn, about his wish… She hadn’t had time to weep, not in front of Yen. It was hard, hearing Yennefer rail against the man Triss had her heart set on. Harder still to hear Geralt had chosen this. Yennefer was so stubborn. It’d be hard enough to convince her to wear her favorite perfume if she didn’t think it was her idea. Yen being bound to man was hard to imagine, harder still to imagine someone else had forced it upon her. She’d been bitter, she knew. Her friend had come back beautiful, and scorning the love of “that scheming, manipulative, golden eyed abomination!” if memory served. That was the first time Triss had ever walked out on Yen. It had hurt more than anything.

Later on, she’d taken the time to cry it out. Hell, she’d even taken Eskel to bed with her, trying to forget Geralt. It hadn’t worked, of course, and Eskel couldn’t have cared less. He just wanted the flame haired sorceress underneath him. So when she’d snuck into Kaer Mohren and to his bed, he hadn’t objected. Triss regretted the decision instantly. What was she trying to do after all? Make him jealous? All she’d gotten was a pale imitation of what Yennefer had. It was a mistake, and one she’d never owned up to. Not to Yen, nor Ciri. Not to the other witchers, and most certainly not to Geralt. She didn’t know if she could. No, she held that secret closer than she did even the Rose of Remembrance. That too, she would carry to her grave.

Then Geralt had returned, remembering nothing. Not her name, barely her face, but perhaps more stunningly not Yennefer of Vengerberg either. It was too good to be true. It wouldn’t last. Whether it was a curse or just a bump on the head, eventually he’d be back to normal. He’d lived so many years, there was no way this would be the undoing of the Butcher of Blaviken. Nevertheless she’d taken advantage of it. It almost hurt more, realizing just how right she was. Eskel was a shadow of the man Geralt was. He’d fought through hordes of soldiers to save her, for no personal gain other than her favor. Risked his life countless times, even treated her like a lady on occasion. He wasn’t the most romantic man, true, but he didn’t lack for spirit or passion. It ached to remember him. The elven bath in the ruin, that mischievous glint in his eyes, the smirk. He flinched when he saw her naked, then tore off his clothes to jump in after her, nearly tripping along the way. It was… cute to see him so frazzled. After the stunning beauty that Yennefer had become, she had thought she would never make him swoon for her. True, she was fit. Some men even favored red heads. It had hurt to think she was a wilted flower beside her friend though. An additional strain on the relationship. But Geralt watcher her with eyes that flickered from near predatory desire to childlike wonder for a time. Gods she had missed him.

And then back he strolled, right in on her meeting in Putrid Grove, bartering as if her life depended on it. Her life _did_ depend on it, of course. It was hard to hide in a basement next to the fish market, the smell of fish and the stench of rotting meat never left her nose these days. A far cry from the oils, candles, perfumes and colognes of her past life. Into this, with Triss about as debased as she had felt since she was captured by Letho’s men, Geralt had walked. Memory restored.

She had tried to duck out then. It had been too difficult meeting his eyes. It was always hard to read those vertical pupils, but his expression had softened when he looked at her. Bedlam had noticed too, damn him. Triss wondered why Geralt would hold anything but suspicion and hostility for her. She had, after all, used his amnesia to worm her way into his bed. Triss imagined she wouldn’t have been so kind had their roles been reversed. If someone had used amnesia to trick her into leaving Geralt, she certainly wouldn’t have any sympathy for them upon recovery.

But when she tried to excuse herself he had followed. Offered to help. Swam in the filthy channel to retrieve her lost implements. Haggled on her behalf with Brandon. Defended her when Radovid’s goons were set on her. Again, he risked life and limb for her. She hadn’t even paid him first! She was sure that was against some ancient witcher code somewhere. She smiled through her tears.

She paused a moment, considering the rose in her hands. Come to think of it, shouldn’t it have wilted now? Surely now that Geralt remembered Yennefer he loved her and not… Perhaps the magic only cared if the rose were given in love? But then what sustained the spell? Surely a flower so fragile it required a blood sacrifice to grow couldn’t be sustained by a discreet act of love. Yet there it be, blooming as if he still loved her. Impossible. Another sob racked her chest.

“What was I thinking, inviting him here!”

“I come at a bad time?”

Whirling, she saw him. _Damn._ Crying so much I don’t even notice the Butcher of Blaviken walk in.

“No,” she managed to stammer while dashing tears from her cheeks “now’s fine.”

She even managed to muster a small smile for him. Why _now_ of all times. She hadn’t thought to see him until at least tomorrow. Never in her wildest thoughts would he come to visit her immediately. It had scant been two hours since he had set off, back fading into the dim sun and smog of the Novigrad evening. Candles flickered around them, on the meager desk and on the small bed frame that made up her abode.

She was embarrassed, frankly. It was hardly the kind of dwelling she wanted to invite handsome men home to. Though she supposed, upon review, that this was preferable to him walking in on her chained to the wall, blood crusted on her lips and eyes swollen nearly shut. At least then she had felt relieved when he walked in the room. Now she was more nervous than ever.

“See you kept that Rose of Remembrance I gave you back in Flotsam”

“Seems so long ago. Probably because so much has changed.” 

Setting the rose aside, not wanting to dwell on it with Geralt right here, she turned back. Now would be a good time to change the subject. Anything would be better than this. Well, maybe not stories of Geralt and Yen’s love-life. That might send her over the edge. Ciri. That was a safe topic. She opened her mouth to try and divert this before the conversation spiraled out of her control, but he beat her to the punch.

“How long you been in Novigrad?”

“Long enough to know how not to get caught, and to survive.”

  
  
“And before you came here, where were you?”

“Oh, places… where I managed to get by without your help, too.”

Too biting, she could tell. He even averted his eyes at that one. Damn him, why did he have to pry? She was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ready for his questions to get personal again. A sigh, a grimace. She didn’t want to chase him away, but she needed some time to gather her thoughts.

“Which doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you...”

Eyes averted, fidgeting with her hair, feet dragging side to side in the sand of the floor. Damn, he’s got me acting like I’m twelve years old again, nervous in front of a boy. It’d be too much to ask that he not notice. Witchers tended to notice everything. Even the dim light wouldn’t hide her blush from him, certainly not at this distance. She could tell he’d washed up a bit, he didn’t smell of river and sewage anymore.

“You know Triss, it's good to see you again”

_Good? To see me?_ She could barely keep up with today. It’d been bewildering enough to see him again, but this? This was too much. She wanted nothing so much as to run into his arms again. What would he do? Triss hadn’t the foggiest idea what Geralt intended by coming here.

“Your rose is still blooming I see. Almost as red as your hair too.”

Compliments? She raised her head only to see the man blushing. Blushing! A nervous laugh escaped her lips. Was this a dream?

“Flatterer. Tis a far deeper shade of red than my hair. Your rose is far prettier too,” she said, gently caressing one petal with her left hand.

Taking a moment to revel in the feel, the _texture_ . Soft as silk, nearly creamy on her skin, and redder than blood. A fitting memoriam of their time together. She’d always wished for more stable times, when great gouts of fire and magic were less necessary. She never _wanted_ to live in such troubled times. Perhaps she’d been born at the wrong time, the wrong age. Maybe a hundred years from now…. 

She stifled the thought. She’d trade no amount of shame and suffering for her time with this witcher. Smiling a little broader this time, she looked back up at him. His eyes had followed her fingers, and she left a finger on the rose petal in what she hoped was a dainty gesture.

“Explain something to me, Witcher.”


End file.
